


Hell-Bound

by Spiderheart



Series: The Wreckedverse [3]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiderheart/pseuds/Spiderheart
Summary: Two of Hell's oldest surviving citizens discuss the borders, and their accompanying secrets.
Series: The Wreckedverse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535261
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Hell-Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a long time ago, let it sit for a while, came back to it and decided that it was pretty good on its own.

The boundaries of Hell were strictly defined, and, though many didn’t know this, strictly enforced, despite the surrounding Underworld nations not needing that much space any longer, their populations mostly static. They were older than Hell, and bitter, and unforgiving.

Mostly, the Fallen enforced the borders—with rumour, with lies, with manipulations of reality that bent back on themselves. Sometimes there were actual physical barriers—the entire western border was Lord Sinuous’ garden-laboratory complex, and nobody ever got outside of it, which meant the least protected border of the two underworlds that met there would be protected. It was the least the Serpent of Eden could do for gods older than their own, that Hell very much wanted to keep on good terms with. As for the rest, Proserpine and their terrifying manipulation of reality kept the north and east safe, and the south…

The south bordered Faerie, which enforced itself by _eating_ anything that crossed into its wild labyrinthine caverns, its sparkling woods full of tiny cries and creeping feet, that so many young demons thought was simply another part of hell, if a bit prettier than the rest of the urban sprawl. Those demons were never seen again, not in one piece.

Proserpine was not the queen of Hell, no matter what any mortal books said—nor did they bear any resemblance to Persephone. They had possessed no name at all before Falling, in fact, as so many angels didn’t. They were as old as Sin, and very much a castigator of the old guard, the only one to still be alive and kicking, the rest having been got by some of the first Cleanses, before they’d established enough of a culture, before they’d learned enough to not simply run at their former siblings, screaming. Some people said Proserpine was cunning, but others, who knew the castigator, were more inclined to think it was likely they’d been so covered in blood and bodies that the exterminators had mistaken Proserpine for one of their own and let it be.

Lord Sinuous had turned his penchant for tempting mortals toward sin in the form of consumables into a drug empire that would have made mortal drug lords weep. He employed all the cookers, growers, and dealers that fell down to the Pit, and was especially good at something that came to be known as ‘marketing’. Even turf wars couldn’t shake the walls of his turf, which he’d sensibly clad in a thick wall before most of the demons around now could have penetrated the territory inside. He also supplied almost everyone, from Valentino to Vox to the lowliest newblood, with his special sweets—vending machines were a stroke of brilliance.

Other than those two, however, most of the surviving Fallen had settled for smaller things. Yvelle had once run the Concubus Department, back when they had enough organisation for such things, before retiring and opening a little bawdy house, later a ‘hotel’ when Hell had decided the safety offered by brothels was too gentle and soft.

The Fallen weren’t exactly pleased by that, but it was nothing compared to what was to come. The Radio Demon had shown up less than a century ago, and things hadn’t been the same. The instability meant borders could be enforced, but Sin and Proserpine—and all the other Fallen who knew the truth—were waiting on tenterhooks for when the Radio Demon’s chaotic eye would turn with boredom toward their domains. The borders being broken would destroy the idea that Hell was supposed to ever get full.

And what then? It wasn’t Duat, nor the creatures of Dis, that worried Lord Sinuous; no, it was the wild wooded caverns to the south, the shining eyes that gleamed with something older than hellfire from the darkness of the leaf-shadows. Most demons would laugh, but most had been mortals that had never met real fae.

When word got out that the Radio Demon was currently completely focussed on the little hotel, they knew they had to make sure to keep it there, and that meant moving pawns and knights and rooks, calling in favours and manoeuvring lesser demons to make sure the princess’ hotel was, if not a success, not totally erased.

Of course, there was also the somewhat chaotic element of the older gods, themselves—not a few were tricksters, and between them and the fae, well, there was no telling what might happen. The vacuum Alastor had made resulted in the already-chaotic Hell growing even more unstable. They were a castle built on sand to begin with, but there was no need to go about destroying it further.

Lord Sinuous met Proserpine in one of their many cars—a huge limousine tank owing to their size—as they slowly patrolled their territory, their minions keeping their eyes fearfully on the tank as it passed by, the treads flattening everything that didn’t get out of the way. Once, Proserpine had been exclusively blades and whips; then humans had invented such lovely guns, a hundred or so years ago—guns that didn’t need a lot of time to load, that didn’t misfire so often. _Efficient_ guns. That was when they’d adopted guns. Prosperine did not tolerate failure, even from weapons.

‘How have you been, this Cleansing?’ Sin asked, once they were settled. He didn’t have the kind of room he was used to in his usual underground den, but he had Prosperine’s _perception_ , their appreciation of his beauty. He’d let out his broken halo, his faces, the aspects that other demons would make fun of, the things that marked him as a Fallen. Proserpine had purred to see them, caressed his halo with their own, complimented his wings, which had escaped untouched but for their lack of glow from the Fall. Sinuous had not Fallen so much as slithered down from Eden, after all.

‘Well enough,’ they said. ‘And you are perfectly well, of course? The drug business still booming?’

‘Oh, yes, very well,’ Sin returned politely, taking the offered cup of wine. It was from his vineyards, because he was the only person who _had_ vineyards. ‘Have you heard the news about the Radio Demon? He’s apparently decided to take on that little project of hers.’

‘That’ll last about ten seconds,’ Proserpine said.

‘Angel Dust is the first guest.’

‘And how do _you_ feel about that, wyrm of wyrms?’

‘Flirt.’ Sin said, wings ruffling at the flattery; he did so love the old names. ‘I’m curious as to why,’ he said, more seriously.

‘Why? He’s Catholic, isn’t he? They’re all the same.’

Sin hummed, not exactly agreeing. ‘Haven’t you fucked him, my dear?’

Proserpine shrugged. ‘As much as I fuck anything. He enjoys pain, genuinely—but not as much as some of my favourites.’

‘You mean, the ones you kill?’

Proserpine shrugged, unapologetic, and circled back around to, ‘The Radio Demon? Interested in the hotel business? Seems a little beneath him.’

‘The princess’ hotel isn’t _that_ kind of hotel. It seems to be some kind of… purgatory.’

‘We _had_ a purgatory, don’t you remember? The Night Mares took it over centuries ago.’

‘Yes, and ate all the souls inside it, I remember.’ Sin remembered that very well—the last time their neighbours had really made a political move, and it was successful, making Hell even smaller than it already was. Granted, Purgatory wasn’t really part of Hell, which was one of the reasons Dis had considered it so immediately unacceptable that they’d carefully waited until there were plenty of juicy souls inside it, toiling away at redemption, before taking it over. Rumour said the Night Mares had eaten all inside, but who knew? Many of the souls in Purgatory were said to belong to Dis, or Duat, after all.

‘She doesn’t know about Purgatory, then?’

‘I’m… not certain _what_ she knows.’ Sin thought on her little performance, and wondered who Lucifer and Lilith had gotten to nanny her. Someone who had forgotten to educate her about Hell, and instead filled her head with… musicals? Lord Sinuous well recalled last time he’d seen the princess; it had been brief, Lucifer had always seen fit to shield her from the Fallen. Sin had been the most stung by that—as though he would have been anything but a loyal ally of Lucifer’s get!

He shrugged, lounging back on his own coils. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, she’ll learn the hard way, I suppose.’

‘Best way to learn,’ Proserpine said.

They shared a knowing look, at that.


End file.
